


Sunburnt Hexes And Sleepy Ressurections

by Electra_Heart



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: BillDip, M/M, florida falls au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electra_Heart/pseuds/Electra_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dipper and Mabel head to Key West for the summer, the last thing they expected was to have a cursed entity on their hands. Things were supposed to be perfectly lazy, perfectly boring. But then, it's so easy to fall in love with the wrong people, it's so easy to be blindsided by sunshine and nice things, it's so easy to bring something to life, believing it is good, if you tell yourself it is.</p><p> Dipper Pines was in deep, deep denial.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Streetcar Named Perspire

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my fic! I hope you enjoy my Florida Falls au, and if you have any suggestions or see a typo that I missed, feel free to let me know in the comments <3 This work's rating will probably changes as it progresses (because, BillDip sin. and therefore, yes)

  
****

“Welcome to the beautiful Florida Keys! The current temperature is 96 degrees fahrenheit, and the time of day is 5:45 PM. We hope you enjoy your stay!”

The pilot’s cheerful intercom greeting ended with a static snap, and passengers began to stir with conversation. After a six hour flight, they arrived in what had been universally dubbed ‘The Land of Sunshine’.

Sunshine, indeed. The second Dipper Pines stepped off of the plane, a wave of heat enveloped him--not to mention the humidity, which was so thick in the air that it was like breathing soup. He turned to see his twin sister Mabel shedding her favorite sweater in favor of the lilac t-shirt underneath.

He hadn't anticipated he would be missing Piedmont already.

“This is gonna be awesome,” Mabel announced, breaking through his thoughts. She proceeded to tie the sleeves of her sweater around the waist of her shorts.

 

“Yeah,” Dipper echoed, though it was clear in his voice that he disagreed. Thinking about it, he was pretty sure the locals had orange juice running through their veins rather than blood, plus, he already had three mosquito bites-- _and they hadn’t even left the building_. In all his sixteen years, Dipper had never felt more sweaty in his life.

He gripped the strap of his backpack tightly, knuckles turning a bloodless white as the pair made their way to the luggage claim. The air smelled faintly of rubber, coffee, and something like melting plastic. Hordes of people jostled past them, suitcases and/or children in tow. And there was lots of chattering. Endless chattering, like a constant, electric buzz.

Beside him, Mabel rummaged through her bag, pulling out a slightly crumpled sheet of paper.

“I made a summer bucket list while we were on the plane. You didn’t notice because you slept the _entire time_.” She shoved the list into Dippers hands.

Taking it from her, his eyes skimmed over the purple glitter gel pen. It was mostly things like “see a horror movie in town” or “go to a pool party”.

An alarm blared behind them and the luggage carousel jerked, then began to turn. Dipper barely noticed, continuing to read the list.

“You wanna...get me a girlfriend..?” he asked incredulously, eyes glued to the last item on the paper. One eyebrow arched at his sister.

“They don’t call me the Love God for nothing,” Mabel grinned, arms folded across her chest.

“No one calls you the Love God, Mab- hey,there’s your suitcase!” Dipper elbowed past some people in front of them with mumbled apologies. He tugged the purple duffle bag off the carousel, handing it to his sister.

Once the two of them had their bags, they exited through the glass revolving doors and out into the open air. The heat cocooned them once more. Dipper pushed his bangs out of his eyes, squinting into the blinding sunlight in search of their great uncle’s car.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel shrieked, running over to greet their grunkle, who stood waiting a few yards away next to an old 1965 El’ Diablo convertible. Despite himself, Dipper smiled and hurried over to join them.

Mabel wrapped her arms around Stan’s middle in a vice-like grip, hugging him tightly.

“We haven’t seen you in so long!” she beamed.

“Missed you too, kiddo,” Stan grinned, tousling her hair.

Dipper gave a sort of a half-wave, tugging down the front of his hat.

“Hey Dipper-oh boy, you got _taller_!”

Dipper gave a flattered expression and stood up a bit straighter. Grunkle Stan clapped him painfully hard on the shoulder. “HA! just kidding, Mabel’s still the taller one. C’mon, let’s get you kids into the car.”

He took Mabel’s bag in one hand and Dipper’s in the other, popping the car’s trunk with the underside of his foot. He set the bags down inside, closing it with a click. Mabel and Dipper settled into the warm, crackly leather of the backseat. Stan’s car smelled like Burger King.

Behind the wheel sat a heavy-set, Hispanic man with a gopher-esque smile. Stan slid into the passenger seat and turned to introduce him.

“This is Soos. Soos, this is Dipper and Mabel.” Dipper’s eyes narrowed.

“Stan, how come _you_ aren’t driving?” He asked.

“Well, apparently, driving through fences that are ‘public property’ under the influence of half a beer is illegal,” Stan said, clicking his seat belt into place. Dipper figured it was something along those lines. Taking the car out of park, Soos began to drive.

Dipper clutched his backpack to his chest and stared out the window. The inky blue-green of the ocean stretched all along the island, and the air smelled of brine and salt. Seagrape and palmetto blurred past them as they continued on. The sky was impossibly blue. Mabel had pressed herself up against his side, trying to get a better view for herself.

“I’m gonna get SUCH a hot tan,” she remarked, her nose pushing against the glass.

“And _I’m_ gonna stay inside all day, where it’s not hot enough to cook food on the floor,”  Dipper said, pushing Mabel off of him.

“Aw, c’mon, you won't be able to resist that ocean,” she smirked, elbowing him in the side.

“I guess we’ll have to see about that,” he grinned. The familiar peace of mind that came with his sister’s banter settled over him.

As they moved further, the car passed through a neighborhood with quaint, clapboard houses, a salvation army, a local high school (which was closed for the summer), and a sandwich shop. Soos pointed it out to be the home of his favorite meatball sub.

After a few miles of restaurants, hotels, and rental car joints, the car pulled into a private, sand-lot driveway, and they all piled out unceremoniously.

Before them was a massive, blocky building, set off by the ocean. Surrounding the exterior was a grassy expanse dotted with palm trees. A tall brick wall blocked out the crash of the shore behind it. Along the building’s side was a sign that read “Fort East Mystery Museum”. Above that, an even larger, glossier looking banner depicted a human-sized doll in a case. It read “Ghosts of East Museum, Home of Bill the Doll, open from 9:30 am to 4:30 pm”.

Dipper couldn’t help but gape at it all, the brightness of the sun burning his retinas.

 

Maybe, just maybe, things would be interesting after all.

☼☼☼

Once he had unpacked with Mabel, Dipper began to explore the lower half of the building, which was nothing short of weird. Each room led to another through a series of tall brick archways, and several narrow halls lead down to, what seemed to be, unlit areas. There were signs depicting the oddities you might find if you chose to venture down them.

The exhibits showcased the rich history of Key West, like it’s old cigar manufacturing-based economy, as well as vintage folk-art statues that were borderline creepy in their own right. The artists were labeled  “unknown”, and each piece carried a strange title like “Vegas Lady” or “Bow-Legged Bride”. Dipper knew Mabel would appreciate it. She appreciated artistic absurdity in everything.

He continued to wander around. Despite the lack of air conditioning and the heat-stroke temperatures outside, the museum half of the old fort-turned-tourist trap was freezing. Dipper rubbed at his arms and stepped into the gift shop. Mabel sat cross-legged on the floor, enthusiastically shaking three snow-globes in each hand.

“You know it doesn’t snow in Florida,” Dipper said.

“It does if you _believe_ ,” Mabel argued, shaking the snow-globes again, the white flurry swirling in its glass. She stood up and placed them haphazardly on their respective shelves.

“The girl’s right Dipper, you gotta believe,” Stan added, sifting through the cash register behind the counter. He pulled out a ten and handed it to Mabel, and her eyes lit up.

“Yes! The one with the hot president!” she grinned, pumping her fist victoriously in the air. Stan laughed.

“Go into town and buy yourselves some Dairy Queen, meet some people, be teenagers, I dunno. There’s this old free streetcar thing that runs through here every fifteen minutes--better get yourselves outside before you miss it,” he advised.

“I’m gonna get an extra large blizzard and get so freaking sick on it,” Mabel announced, grabbing Dipper’s hand and dragging him out the door. Dipper had to admit, ice cream did sound pretty fantastic.

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan!” he called as the door swung shut behind them.

True to Stan’s word, the streetcar sat idly up ahead. Its sides were a deep, slightly faded red and its brass rails glinted in the sunlight. The two of them raced to catch it, pulling themselves into a bench just as the bell tolled deeply. The streetcar slowly began to move.

Dipper wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm. Mabel smiled at him, all teeth and braces.

“See, we’re having fun already,” she chided, almost like an I-told-you-so. He could feel the beginnings of a smile work at the corners of his mouth. Reluctantly agreeing to her statement with a nod, he turned to look over the side of the trolley.

It was different than being in the car-- closer to the beach foliage. The sound of waves slopping up on each other created a pleasant, ever-present roar. He could taste the salt in the soft evening breeze as it lifted his hair off his face.

The streetcar passed all the places they had seen on the way to the museum. Dipper even noticed some stuff he hadn’t before. A small, busy looking diner, a bookstore, and plenty of clapboard houses that stood in rows, branching out on their own little streets from the main road.

The splintered wood bench bit into his thighs, and when he looked away from the sensory overload of culture, he caught Mabel looking at ease. The tranquility had started to affect her.

“There it is!,” Mabel shouted, pulling him from his thoughts. She stood, holding onto the railing with one hand, and pointing at the local Dairy Queen with the other. The trolley stopped abruptly, and Mabel lurched forward with a startled laugh.

Dipper tried not to seem too eager as they entered the disembarked from the streetcar and entered the building, a delicious blast of cool air whipping at their faces.

The inside looked exactly as you would expect a small-town Dairy Queen to be.Above them hung too-bright fluorescent ceiling lights, the kind you’d find in classrooms, and everything smelled of grease and dead American dreams. All the seats were worn-out, yellow upholstery, and posters of items on the menu lined the wall. Dipper found that ridiculous. If you were already there, it’s not like you needed the place marketed to you further. You had already made the decision to consume an unholy amount of calories. The American dream, indeed.

Behind the counter stood a plump woman with bright blue eyeshadow and a lazy eye. She was handing people their orders with a southern drawl and a smile. Dipper walked up to the register.

“Two oreo blizzards please.” Dipper said. Oreo was Mabel’s all time favorite, as was his. The woman (Susan, according to her name tag) punched the order into the register.

“Got it! That’ll be 6 dollars and 89 cents.”Susan said, holding out an upturned palm. Mabel felt around in her pockets, a distressed look on her face.

“You lost the money, didn’t you?” Dipper sighed.

“I didn’t _lose_ the money, I _misplaced_ the money,” She corrected. “And besides, mistakes are just happy accidents, Dipper.”

“Sweet, I found **money**!”

Dipper turned to the source of the exclamation. A brunette girl held their ten dollar bill, a delighted smile on her face.

“That is awesome, Grenda!” her Korean companion chimed, brushing a lock of long black hair from her face.

Mabel rushed over to the pair, visibly relieved.

“Hey, guys, I’m Mabel, this is Dipper,” Dipper waved, “and I think you might have found the money I dropped.”

The girl’s excitement wanned.

“Oh, here you go.” Grenda, the one with the My Little Pony t-shirt and teal cutoffs, handed Mabel the money.

“I’m Grenda, and this is Candy.”

“Hiiii!.” The short girl waved, the extra-long sleeves of her shirt flopping around aimlessly.

Without warning, she reached out and tugged hard at Dipper’s bangs. He let out a startled yelp, taking a large, cautionary step away from this boundary-breaking stranger. Dipper rubbed at his aching scalp, wondered if everyone from Florida was like this.

“Your hair is so fluffy! I love it!” She paused thoughtfully. “But I know about _all_ the cute boys around here, so you must not be a local!”

“Oooh, foreign boys!” Grenda cheered. “Where are you guys from?”

 

“We’re from California.” Mabel replied nonchalantly. Candy gasped, her glasses slipping down her slender nose.

“Wow! That is so cool! Tell me how many movie stars have you kissed on the lips!” she said, eyes wide and oddly twinkly.

“Pshhh, none, Candy. We’re not from Los Angeles.” Mabel laughed. “But I like the way you girls think.” she added, grinning. Of course Mabel liked their mentality. She was drawn to eccentricity the way moths are drawn to artificial light. Strongly and dangerously.

“Order number 43!” Susan called out from her post. She held a tray loaded with burgers, fries, a banana split, and a peanut butter parfait. Dippers stomach growled.

“Thats us!” Grenda exclaimed, and went to pay. She handed the woman a handful of crumpled cash. “Thanks, Lazy Susan.”

“You’re welcome, sweety.” Lazy Susan smiled, handing her the meal.

When Grenda returned, she set the food down at a booth, and Candy moved to join her.

“You guys should eat with us,” Candy suggested around the fries in her mouth.

“We would love to!” Mabel exclaimed gleefully, before Dipper could protest. “C’mon Dipper, lets go get some ice cream-” and under her breath “-This is our chance to make our very first Florida friends.”

Dipper re-ordered their blizzards (extra large for Mabel, who made it clear from the start she was going to get sick off of it). They slid into the booth, and began to eat. After Mabel complimented Grenda’s shirt, the table conversation swiftly turned to the details of the “nightmare Rarity” story arc in My Little Pony, Friendship Is Magic. Dipper would never admit he had given the show a try before. Instead of giving his 2 cents, he ate his dessert in silence and enjoyed the hum of excited voices--until Candy asked where they were staying.

“The Fort East Mystery Museum.” Dipper answered. “Our great uncle runs the place.”

Candy’s eyes grew wide, and Grenda gave a low whistle.

“That place is super creepy, man.” Grenda said, her tone somber. Candy nodded in agreement.

“Especially that doll, the one named Bill. He gives me nightmares.” She added. Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look.

“I heard, that one time, Robbie from the music store spray-painted a muffin onto the side of the glass case, and then, in the morning-” Grenda paused for dramatic effect ”-his hands were **paralyzed**.”

“I heard, that he curses you if you take his picture without permission.” Candy shuddered. “That doll makes me nervous.”

“And he’s so _creepy_ , with that one eye, and the smile...It’s like he’s always looking at you.” Grenda said. Her usual bold demeanor was replaced with something fearful.

“If you listen closely, you can almost hear it talking.” Candy added. “I am worried for you guys! There’s something going on there. I can feel it.” She pointed to her head . “And I have really good feeling senses.”

Dipper glanced at Mabel. She seemed to be struggling between an uneasy smile and the anxiety beneath it.

“Mabel...have you...seen the doll yet?” Dipper asked. He hadn’t even had a chance to explore the entire museum, but he remembered the picture of the doll from the banner outside of the museum. It was pretty unsettling.

“I’m sure if all that’s true..that...that he’s a friendly spirit.” she said quietly, and with that, the conversation was laid to rest. It didn’t pick up again.

☼☼☼

 

When Dipper and Mabel returned, Grunkle Stan was locking up for the night. Outside, crickets played their violins and clouds shrouded any visible stars. It was clear a sign of oncoming rain. Though rain was something rare back home in Piedmont, it was a near-daily occurrence here in Florida. Disappointingly, dusk here was just as sticky-warm and daytime.

Grunkle Stan had handed him a rag and a bottle of Windex, and now he stood before the infamous “Bill The Doll”, with the instructions to wipe its glass case until it shined.

Now that he was getting a look for himself, he could see why the doll carried such a creep factor.Its creator had obviously tried to give it a smile, but it was a much more of a malice-laced grin. It’s cheeks were rosy, the porcelain pock-marked here-and there from age. It boasted a full head of sandy blonde hair, and one big black eye. There was a gaping hole where the other should've been, and nobody had bothered to fix it.

Then there was the weird stuff. For starters, it was the size of an eighteen year old, and had the face of one too. Dipper couldn’t fathom why anyone would want a doll to appear that age, except for some screwed-up sexual purpose. It wore a tattered black sailor uniform-- one that looked like it was meant for a four year old. An odd wardrobe choice, even for its time. In its hands was a ratty stuffed sheep, and its grip seemed impossibly tight. Not that a doll would have the capability to grip anything.

“Yeesh, kid. Stare any longer and your eyes might melt out of their sockets.”

Dipper whirled around.

“Who said that?!” He demanded from the emptiness around him. An echoing silence answered him. Dipper felt a chill on the back of his neck, like someone was breathing iciness behind him. He rubbed at his arms, feeling colder than usual. 

Hesitantly, he turned back to the doll. Thank god it was as motionless as before. He breathed a sigh of relief, shaking the voice off as his own ridiculous paranoia. Man would his friends back in Piedmont love this. It was exactly the kind of half-assed horror bullshit they held close to their hearts. He pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture, read to send it to his friends when the screen turned black. He pressed the home button, but nothing happened. He tried again--still nothing.

He glanced up at the doll. It almost seemed to mock him with that stupid smirk. He looked back down at his phone.

Dipper gasped. A hairline fracture ran across the entirety of the screen. One that clearly wasn’t there a second ago.

“What the hell?” he muttered, turning it over in his hands.

“What the hell indeed, kid. Meet Bill, perhaps the only legitimate exhibit in this entire museum.”

Dipper jumped, but then he realised it was just Stan creeping up on him.

“Ha! did I startle you?” He laughed. “Well that’s only natural, I mean look at this thing!” Stan said, patting the glass case. “We haven’t had it for more than fifteen years, and it’s already caused more bittersweet problems I’ve ever seen in my life! And,” Stan’s eyes twinkled with enticement, “It’s got a really good backstory too.”

Dipper gave Stan his best please-don’t-tell-me-the-backstory look, which Stan ignored.

“They say a maid created him. She was of Haitian descent, and practiced voodoo regularly. Her employers, Mr. and Mrs.Fritz treated her terribly. And so, like any reasonable person, she made the doll, placing a curse on it. On their son Eugene William’s fourth birthday, she gifted it to him. Pretty clever, if I do say so myself.” Stan cleared his throat. “Anyways, weird stuff started happening around the house. All the dishes in the cupboards would be found broken on the floor, the neighbors cat would turn up mauled in their kitchen. Stuff like that. Whenever they confronted their little boy, he would tell them Bill did it.Bill being our little friend here.” Stan glanced at the doll beside them.

“Neighbors would often see flashes of the doll moving past the attic window. At night, Gene would claim to hear Bill cackling, or catch the doll staring at him. He developed severe anxiety and paranoia.

But there was also this odd protectiveness--Gene wouldn’t let Bill out of his sight. He took it everywhere he went. And he always had this look on his face, like he was utterly terrified. Except that’s not even the weirdest thing, oh no, the weirdest thing was that the Fritz's couldn’t deny that the doll seemed to age as Gene did. It grew taller, and its feature changes with age.

But then a tragic turn of events occurred, and Gene died from pneumonia at the young age of 18. His parents were grief stricken.They moved out of the house, not being able to bear the memories it held, and Bill was left in the attic.” Stan grinned “It doesn’t end there, though. A decade later, a new family moved in. A mother, a father, and their sweet little girl. It wasn’t long before they heard thumping in the attic. Soon, their daughter became warped with fear. She would often wet the bed at night, or run crying to her parents, telling them that Bill was trying to get her. They shushed her, and told her that monsters weren’t real. _But the neighbors knew otherwise._ They remembered what they saw all those years ago. They remembered the Fritz family.

One day, a plumber came to fix their sink. While he was working, he heard something laughing. Sinister and inhuman. When he turned, Bill was sitting beside him. Naturally, the guy fled, and soon it became clear that their daughters words rang true. The family packed up and left as well. Bill was abandoned once more. But now,” Grunkle Stan smiled, “he’s here.”

He looked at the doll. The doll stared back at him. “Sometimes I’m pretty sure he’s still angry.” He sighed. “I guess we can’t abandon him now. We’re his latest family.”

Dipper blinked.

“Grunkle Stan, that is the weakest, most fake story I’ve ever heard.” Dipper said. He was tired, annoyed that his phone was broken, and fed up with Stan’s antics. He turned to clean the glass case, the whole reason he was there in the first place.

“Believe what you want, Dipper. Just don’t piss the guy off.” Stan advised, tousling Dipper’s hair. “Sweet dreams, Kiddo. I’m turning in for the night.”

“Goodnight, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper replied halfheartedly. A moment passed, and it was just him and the doll again.

Dipper frowned at his broken phone, then frowned at Bill.

“Stupid doll,” He muttered,  and kicked the edge of the case, but Bill stared back at him as if _he_ were the stupid one.

 


	2. Lying On A Fake Beach, You'll Never Get A Tan

The next morning, Dipper woke up disoriented. At first, he didn’t realised where he was, but then he heard Mabel’s soft, even breathing in the bed across from his, and he remembered. Florida, weird girls, dairy queen-- _the doll._

Hesitantly, he reached over for his phone. The screen was still cracked. He pressed the home button. Nothing.

Sighing, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and made his way to the bathroom, careful not to wake up Mabel. Birds chirped endlessly outside, and sunlight filtered through the small window over the shower. Dipper sleepily began to brush his teeth, knowing he was just going to shove a hat over his bead-head instead of actually trying to fix it. It was a perfectly good, band-aid solution. He bent to spit into the sink, and when he looked up, he had to keep from yelling out in shock.

Along the middle of the mirror was a large fracture. Baffled, he reached forward and ran his finger along it slowly. He was about to go get Grunkle Stan, when the crack began to spiderweb deeper. Before he could move out of the way, the entire thing shattered over him.

Next thing he knew, Mabel had burst into the room. He must’ve screamed.

“Dipper! What happened?!” She cried, rushing over to him. He lay crouched on the floor, bits of glass embedded into his arms and cheeks. Still in shock, he hadn’t moved from the spot. Mabel swiftly began to pick out the larger pieces with her fingers.

“I just.. It just..It shattered. Out of no where, Mabel.” Dipper replied, coming out of his stupor. Small beads of blood glistened on his arms, and he winced, as if he had only realised right then that he was in pain.

“Okay. Okay Dipper, you’re fine. I’m going to get my tweezers. And some band-aids.” She swallowed thickly. “Lots of band-aids.”

A moment later, she had returned. Dipper brushed all the glass bits off the sink-top using a ratty old hand towel. He hoisted himself up onto it’s edge, holding his arm out for Mabel. She wordlessly began to dig out the smaller bits, and Dipper could feel tears pricking at his eyes.

It felt like an eternity before she was done. All the bits that had been embedded into his skin sat beside him, a small mountain of bloody shards. Mabel began to stick colorful bandages over every cut, and pressed a purple one to the laceration along his cheek.

“Better?” she asked softly.

“Better,” Dipper nodded shakily, slowly getting over his shock. “Thanks Mabes.”

“No problem bro bro. I’ll go get you a broom.”

She came back with a broom in her hands, letting him know that she had to run the gift shop, but that she would be back soon if he still needed help. He touched the band-aid on his cheek, thankful for his sister.

As Dipper swept up the glass that littered the floor, he couldn’t help but think of his phone. First that, now this. Maybe glass just hated him. Or maybe it was someone else that hated him. He gripped the broom handle too-tightly, thinking of that god damned doll. In the back of his mind, he blamed this on Bill, even though he knew that it was ridiculous. Bill wasn’t a sentient being. Anyone with two eyes could see that the doll was just a spooky tactic for making money. And if Grunkle Stan was good at anything, it was convincing people to blindly believe.

Besides, even if Bill _did_ happen to be a sentient being, there was no way he would be able to do stuff like this. The mirror was must have been old, and Dipper probably just had bad timing. But then he thought about how he had kicked the display case the night before. And Candy’s warnings about taking the doll’s picture. And Grenda’s stories.

He shook his head. Just a bunch of locals with nothing to do but sell stories.

Cleaning up the mess was tedious as hell, but he finally managed to get it done. Distractedly, he threw on some clothes and headed downstairs. Even though Mabel had made his favorite pancakes (probably because she felt bad about what happened), he skipped breakfast entirely. He felt oddly tense, and didn’t have much of an appetite.

People had already begun milling about the museum, even though they had just opened an hour ago. Mostly, they were the touristy looking type, but Dipper wondered if any of them were locals. No, he thought. Any local most likely had their fair share of the place a long time ago.

“Dipper! Just the guy I wanted to see!” Dipper turned to see Grunkle Stan before him with a large burlap postal sack. “Mabel told me about what happened to the bathroom mirror. I guess you better go appease Bill.” he laughed, handing Dipper the sack. Dipper lurched forward, not expecting it to be so cumbersome.

“What is _in_ here?” He gasped, Heaving his arms to hold the sack from underneath.

“Bill’s fan mail. You gotta read at least ten of these to him, then empty the rest at the bottom of the display case.” Stan instructed, handing him the key to the case. Dipper gaped at him.

“Are you serious? It’s not _alive_ Stan. It can’t _hear_!”

Stan shook his head. “No wonder the mirror broke on ya’ kid. You probably angered the thing.” He nudged Dipper’s shoulder. “Go read the letters. After that, I’ll have you clean the glass case a few more times. That should help ‘em settle down.”

Dippers arms ached from the weight of all the letters. He couldn’t believe this.  Aggravated, he made his way to the part of the museum where they kept Bill. A small crowd of people surrounded the display--it _was_ their main attraction, after all. Dipper waited for them to get bored and move on, and the dropped the bag to the floor with a dull thud. He undid the clasp and fished out a letter with a yellow envelope, carefully ripping it open. He couldn’t fathom that people actually sent in letters, like they believed in this idiocy. He unfolded the bit of notebook paper and began to read.

“Dear Bill, My name is Reese, I’m from Wyoming, and I really like this boy in my class, but he has a girlfriend. I can’t do anything about it, so I turn to your divine power for help.” Dipper couldn’t help but laugh aloud. _Divine power?_ The doll was just a doll, not a god. Reluctantly, he continued to read. He didn’t even know why he was doing this anyways. “I would like to ask if you could please cause Aaron to hate Michelle, so that he falls in love with me instead.”

“C’mon, you can do better than that. Read it like you _mean it_.”

Dippers eyes snapped up from the letter, his hands shaking. He turned around fast enough to give himself whiplash. In the far end of the building, through the next archway, he saw Mabel standing by the vending machine. She was eating two ice cream bars, one in each hand.

“Mabel, quit messing with me!” he yelled, his voice wavering.

“What?” she called back. “I’m not messing with you.”

With a chill running down his spine, Dipper turned back to the doll. Nine more letters to go.

**  
  
**

**☼☼☼**

It was becoming increasingly hard to ignore the odd occurrences. Dipper almost always felt cold all over, and paranoid. Paranoid as hell. At night, the voice would constantly harass him; _“Come read to me~”_ it told him _“I’m so loneeeeeely, Pinetree~”_ , among other, cruder teasings. He didn’t even want to think about how the voice knew his name. If he did, he was worried he would find whoever it belonged to crawling through his mind. An _highly_ uninvited guest.

Then there was the harassment. His favorite hat had gone missing for two days, his clothes ended up in the toilet. He would wake up with mysterious bruises, and they ached for days and days. The shower would never work when he tried to turn it on. He couldn’t sleep. He could never sleep. He heard laughing all the time. It rung in his ears, like a catchy, horrible song.

It was Bill. It had to be Bill. He couldn’t deny it anymore. Whether he wanted to believe Stan was right was a different story, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that it was all Bill’s doing. Whenever he was instructed to clean the display case, it watched him. Its eye following him, keeping track of him. It knew.

Nights were long. Dipper had never dreamt in black and white before. Now, everything was gray-scale when he closed his eyes. Bill was the always there, and always the only thing in vivid, eye-burning technicolor.

Every time, he would wake up panting, as if he had run a marathon. His fingers would brush over the purple-black above his collar bone, and he would shudder. It was as if someone had tried to choke him in his sleep. He could almost feel it--slender, freezing cold fingers pressing and pressing until there was no air left in him, his lungs burning, his body thrashing, fighting for survival. And then nothing, because Bill would always let go. As if he wanted to kill Dipper, but he enjoyed watching him struggle even more.

Dipper felt hollow. And Mabel had quickly caught on that something was wrong. It was one morning, while Dipper was cleaning Bill’s display case for the umpteenth time, that Mabel had waltzed in carefully. She wore a floppy hat and a blue one-piece swimsuit, and her feet were adorned with little pink sandals.

“Dipper, you need to stop obsessing over that doll.” she stated matter-of-factually. She reached forward and pried the rag from Dipper’s hand.

“This has to stop. We’re going to go swimming, and you’re not going to argue about it.” Mabel announced. Dipper could tell by the steely look in her eyes that she wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. He also knew she had been wanting to spend time on the beach ever since they had arrived in Florida. He sighed. He knew he would feel guilty if he turned her down. And maybe it would get her off his back about the Bill thing.

“I’ll go with you.” he paused. “But you leave me alone about all of this if I do.”

He could practically see the gears turning in her head as she thought it over.

“...Fine.” she agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Dipper headed upstairs and changed into his swimsuit. There was nothing Bill could do to him out on the beach--and besides, he hated to admit it, but Mabel was right. If he got out more, he might feel a little better.

Mabel had been waiting patiently, and as soon as he returned, they exited the museum and were blanketed with sunshine. Mabel's hair was glossy and flawless in the sunlight, and she was smiling from ear to ear. The left the parking lot through the gate in the brick wall, and for now, Bill was just a bad memory.

The sand was hot and soft between Dippers toes. The sun beat down on them ruthlessly as they made their way towards the water, the shoreline a pristine white. In the distance, several hotels lined the beach, each one more magnificent than the next. But their architecture couldn’t even compare to the endless blue that stretched before them. Miles and miles of glittering, clear blue. It was so blue it hurt his eyes. He had never seen such a dauntingly beautiful sight in his life.

“C’mon, Dipper!” Mabel yelled over the crash of the waves. She was already standing on the cluster of massive rocks that stretched into the water, waving her arms around like a maniac. Dipper grinned despite himself and ran to join her.

He climbed onto the jagged, wet surface of the first rock, dragging himself up on top of it, and doggedly making his way to Mabel's side. The boulders were incredibly slippery, but Dipper treaded carefully. The sea spray bit at his ankles, and Mabel stood with her arms outstretched, giggling every time a wave soaked her.

Dipper moved closer to her, his foot wedging between two a small gap for a better grip, when suddenly, he lost his balance. It all happened in a flash--Mabel shrieking, the cold water consuming him, his head colliding violently with the jaggedness beneath them.

And then, Nothing.

Or, well, not entirely nothing. There was grayness, and whiteness, and a painful, shrill ringing in his ears. Dipper looked down at his hands. Pale as a sheet. It was like his surroundings were an old photograph.

His stomach lurched with the horrible familiarity.

Before him, Bill sat cross-legged on the ground, in highly-saturated color.

_**No.** No. No no no no no no no no no no no no nononononooooo--_

**  
**“Welcome to the Mindscape, kid. You kept me waiting far too long.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dip, you really are the stupid one.


End file.
